The Usual Suspects
by teB360
Summary: "All great changes happen at the dinner table" they say. Except in Arthur's case, a great change happened after he tripped over his own shoes and lost his shopping bags. That's where Alfred Jones steps in, and the stale things in Arthur's life are finally shaken up a little bit. Slash Yaoi USUK
1. Chapter 1

Arthur realised he had nothing to wear. Nothing… nice, nothing cool, or spunky. Nothing he could wear out, nothing with 'personality'. A lot of his clothes were a bit bland and grandmotherly. Like for example, Arthur took in what he was currently wearing in the tall mirror beside his wardrobe:  
A beige knit cardigan pulled over a thin tee shirt with a noticeable hole at the collar, that hung over his shoulders. His trousers were worse for wear as well. There was a patch at the knee and they were shapeless and a rather unflattering green colour. And the sole of one of his trainers were hanging off the base of the shoe as well.

He grabbed his wallet and bus pass and decided to hit the town for the day and see what the stores had to offer him.

After half an hour of browsing through shapeless, ugly clothing, finally Arthur stumbled upon a few things that really caught his eye.

Tall black leather lace up boots and a nice leather jacket with a silver zip line up the front. He was in love. Until he checked the price tag. Arthur felt his heart deflate all of a sudden. He almost wouldn't be able to afford it, he had rent to think about, food, but then again… he never really bought anything for himself. Most of his clothing consisted of hand-me-downs and cheap deals from op shopping and going online.

Arthur was served at the cash point by a stern and mildly miserable German man, wearing an ill-fitting green apron that looked rather ridiculous, considering his hulking frame and bulging forearms. He scanned the items with a frown that seemed to get deeper as the next customer barged his way up beside Arthur, talking loudly on his phone with heavy American accent.

' _God damn entitled tourists.'_

When Arthur had paid for his new items he drifted happily towards the escalator, only to trip over the broken sole of his one trainer, sending the bags flying. Arthur landed hard, pain rocketing from his elbows and knees. He scrambled back up, wasting no time, only to see that his new, expensive, things were gone.

Arthur's heart leapt to his throat, a cold sweat running down the back of his neck. There were people bustling around everywhere, pushing through and around each other. He couldn't see who might have taken from him or anyone that looked mildly suspicious, until there was a touch from behind, at his newly bruised elbow.

Arthur immediately spun around, only the see the American tourist holding the two bags gingerly at the tips of his fingers, along with his own. He had a confident grin grace his features as Arthur studied him for a microsecond.

He was a tall man with broad shoulders who had messy blonde hair and welcoming blue eyes that seemed quite genuine to him. "You kinda dropped this." He said, his voice deep but friendly at the same time.

"Thankyou." Arthur responded carefully, taking the bags back from the stranger's outreached fingers. He wore a scrutinising expression on his face, but from within he actually felt rather grateful for the stranger's action.

"Sure, any time. I'm Alfred, by the way. Alfred Jones."

"Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure to meet you." Arthur replied courteously, but he erased his former expression to bring forward a soft smile. "And once again, thank you for rescuing my bags."

"Hey, I would have rescued you from falling over if I got here in time." He laughed.

"Right." Arthur was still softly smiling as he stepped onto the escalator, with Alfred following. "So what brings you to the United Kingdom? Are you on tour, or here with your girlfriend? I hope that's not too intrusive." He wondered out loud, mostly out of curiosity.

Alfred's smile thinned, but only subtly. "No I'm not here on tour and I don't have a girlfriend right now. I'm actually here to… to see my father."

Arthur nodded. "Does he live here?"

Alfred shrugged. "He did." He spoke bluntly, and Arthur's smile wiped off his face in sudden realisation.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

Alfred shook his head. "Naw, don't worry. Thanks though. He had been on his way out for a few years anyway so it's not like it was unexpected. He wanted to be buried in his homeland so my brother and I are here for the funeral."

Arthur couldn't think of anything to say to that. It was a heavy topic to talk about, especially with someone he'd only just met five minutes prior. They were at the doors now, which opened up to the main street.

"It was lovely to meet you anyway, Alfred. Maybe we will see each other around?" The Brit said. He wasn't a master at ending conversations, but he didn't want to hold the man up either.

Alfred cocked a goofy grin. "Hey do you wanna get a coffee or something, some time? Or maybe we could hit the bar if you'd prefer?"

Arthur considered it. Alfred probably didn't know anyone around here and this was his way of reaching out and trying to make friends. And to be honest, the only person Arthur saw regularly was his house mate Francis, who was both annoying and slightly creepy. And all in all, Alfred didn't seem _that_ bad. A bit loud, but it wouldn't hurt to get to know someone new for once.

"You know what? That sounds like a nice idea."

Alfred's grin broadened and the two exchanged numbers.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur didn't want to admit it to himself, but he felt rather anxious. Somewhere deep down he was looking forward to their spontaneously brewed plan to meet up sometime.

It was a bit sad, he thought. He didn't even care about the possibility that Alfred could be an absolute weirdo, because ever since he had dropped out of university, Arthur never really spent time with anyone anymore and he started to find himself lacking in the friendship department.

Not that it was a bad thing, it was less drama, but it would be nice to talk to someone other than Francis for once.

Arthur had been at work when his phone vibrated against the wooden counter at Bertie's Books. He was in the middle of cataloguing a new order and the store had been so quiet that day that he could hear the buzzing from the other side of the room.

He trudged over, placing the new books in a pile beside his phone before checking the message. Sure enough, it was from Alfred, asking him what he was up to that night. He sent a quick reply saying that he had nothing planned and he knew of a nice bar just out of the city they could go to, if he was still up for it.

" _Sounds gr8, I need a beer after the day I've had 2day."_ Alfred texted back. _"How's 7 sound?_ _"_

With that, the ball was rolling.

After he knocked off work and finally made it home, Arthur changed into his new items and an old pair of jeans that looked half decent with his new boots. He also decided to wear his Misfits shirt with his new leather jacket, zipped up. He checked himself out in the mirror and decided he needed to do something about his hair.

Arthur wasn't sure why he was suddenly feeling so nervous about this. The feeling bloomed and then tangled inside of his stomach like unwanted weeds that couldn't be pulled out.

He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath to calm down, which seemed to work. They got along pretty fine the week before, when they met. He didn't see why Alfred shouldn't like him, and he also couldn't see why he should care whether the stranger liked him or not.

But he had been out of the loop for almost a year. He hadn't been to too many social events since University, so he supposed it was natural feeling to have. Or maybe he just really wanted to make a solid impression on Alfred, because he really wanted to be liked.  
He didn't want to comprehend that thought.

Instead, he fixed his hair and left.

The pub was quiet that night. Not too many patrons and the staff were busy in cleaning mode. Alfred was nowhere to be found.

Arthur checked his watch. It was only six forty-five pm. He took a seat by the bar and ordered a pint. He'd almost finished his second by the time Alfred had arrived and took a seat on the stool beside him.

"Hey man, sorry I'm late. Nice jacket." He greeted the Brit with that ever-sure smile of his.

"You're not late, Alfie." Arthur laughed. The alcohol was already starting to mess with him, and he'd only just started his third beer.

"Alfie? I like it." Alfred smirked, ordering his first beer. "Looks like I'll have to play catch ups coz you're getting hammered."

"I'm not even tipsy, mate." He lied light-heartedly.

The night flew by smoothly. Arthur sobered up a little between finishing his third and starting his fourth drink, while Alfred had moved on from beer to bourbon and whiskey and was becoming utterly 'smashed'. That's when Arthur began to drink again.

Alfred's words were starting to mesh into each other and made less and less sense as the minutes went by, to the outside crowd. Yet the equally as drunk Arthur was listening intently, nodding his head every so often.

Alfred had described that he went to his father's funeral that day, and that his uncle acted like the biggest ass. And he also mentioned his brother a few times. Alfred was saying he could never get a word out of him and that he escaped to Canada as soon as he turned twenty one and had minimal contact with the rest of the family.  
He also told Arthur that when his father was first diagnosed with cancer three years before, he packed up and left for Great Britain, his home country, and didn't tell anyone until he was settled in, across the other side of the world.

Arthur could relate. His family wasn't close either and his brothers moved away as quick as they could. He didn't even get a chance to get to know them because they were all much older than what he was. His family were hard on him, too. Very 'by the book' and couldn't understand that wasn't how Arthur wanted to live his life. So much like his brothers, he left as soon as he could. He learned pretty quickly that his brothers' leaving wasn't a reaction to his birth, like he originally thought while he was growing up. He was just too young to understand, at the time. But he also expressed to Arthur how he'd love to reconnect with them if he had the opportunity one day.

The conversation gradually got lighter. Arthur learned that Alfred was staying here for two months, he managed a branch of a popular technology chain store, his girlfriend who dumped him a few weeks before was meant to come on this trip and now she was trying to get back with him. To which he muttered ' _dumb bitch._ ' Under his breath with a laugh to himself. He didn't at all seem bothered by it and spoke about it in such an offhand way that it caught Arthur's surprise.

Alfred had then turned his attention on Arthur to ask him about his current relationship. That's when things went mildly awkward on his part. Admittedly, Arthur had never had a proper girlfriend, and he told Alfred this. But what he didn't say was that it didn't mean he'd never been in a relationship.

He mentioned that he had an on and off fling with a girl from high school but she didn't catch his interest romantically. What he didn't want to say was that he had a boyfriend of two years while he was in University that ended very, very badly. He didn't even want to think about it. He shook the thought off, ignoring the lingering feelings that still hung around like a bad smell.

The two newfound friends were at the pub until closing time. They left without much trouble and stumbled out into the streets. Not too much was open at two in the morning, except for one little shop that sold the best hotdogs you can get in the early hours of the morning. Alfred's eyes lit up at the sight and smell when they entered the surprisingly busy shop.

"I love hotdogs!" He exclaimed excitedly.

Arthur ordered and paid for two hotdogs with cheese, bacon, onion and tomato sauce, and the two took a seat and dug into their late-night dinner.

Alfred wolfed his down and licked each finger individually before patting his belly. "Oh man that was good. Reminds me of a place I used to go to as a teen, funny that isn't it? How when you're so far away little things remind you of home."

Arthur had just finished eating his own hotdog when he looked up to regard Alfred with kind eyes. He didn't realise until then how attractive he was. He was boyish looking, undoubtedly cheeky, but the way his hair sat (which seemed natural) suited him so well, along with his bombers jacket that was zipped all the way to the top. He was absolutely gorgeous.

It didn't take long for Arthur to realise he was staring at the man sitting opposite him. And that the same man was also staring right back at Arthur.

"There's ketchup on your face." Alfred said a little suddenly.

Arthur broke his gaze, his face quickly getting hot as he stared at the table and wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Is that better?" He asked, not feeling as confident to meet his eyes.

Little did he know Alfred was grinning at him. "Oh there you are, I was wondering where you were hiding."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Arthur rolled his eyes. "And it's called 'sauce' not 'ketchup'."

"Tomato, tomahto."

"Cheeky git."

"You love it."

It was almost four in the morning by the time Arthur struggled back home. He was careful to be quiet so as not to wake Francis up, while he locked the door behind him and searched for the bathroom in the dark.

When he was in the shower Arthur thought about Alfred, everything they said to each other, and how well they got along that night. It was fun. He wanted to see more of Alfred.

Before he went to bed he shot Alfred a quick text thanking him for the good night and that he'd love to do it again some time.

Sometime soon he would have preferred, if he had his way.


	3. Chapter 3

"Nice pad." Was Alfred's comment the first time he stepped into Arthur's flat. The American glanced around inquisitively, studying Francis's artwork hung up on the walls as well as the photographs that described both of their lives.

One seemed to catch Alfred's attention over the rest that he'd glanced over. "You've been to _Paris?"_ He pointed at the photo with an excited grin.

Arthur studied the photo. It was taken over six years ago when he'd travelled across Europe, which was where he'd actually met Francis, along with a few other fellows he hadn't seen or heard from in a long time. There was a wistful feeling that shuddered in his chest at the thought.

"You look so young!"

"I was nineteen." Arthur told him.

"You were a cute nineteen year old." Alfred teased him, only to receive a blush from Arthur in response.  
"Don't get all embarrassed on me. You know it's true."

Arthur's chest tightened a little and he struggled to change the subject. As said before, he wasn't exactly a master of conversation but it was no good to start feeling all flowery about it either.

Alfred was his friend. His _new_ friend. He couldn't let himself drop down into having possible feelings for someone again, he would only get hurt. And even if something did happen, Alfred was only going to pack up and leave for America in the coming months, anyway. He was only trying to protect himself.

"So you mentioned you had a roommate?" Alfred asked, eyes finally tearing away from the photographs.

Yes, he did indeed. Although it was meant to be more of a warning.

"Francis?" Arthur made a slight grimace. "He should be arriving home soon, he mentioned earlier that he had errands to run."

Arthur's expression wasn't lost on him. "What's wrong with him?"

Arthur sighed. How could he possibly explain _Francis_ to someone who had never met him before? "He's a bit… of a character."

"He' funny?"

"Rather he can be a bit… overwhelming." He corrected, noticing that the cogs were turning in Alfred's mind. "It's hard to explain unless you meet him."

Doubtlessly, within twenty minutes of Alfred being there, the front door could be heard shutting from the kitchen, where the two new friends had been residing.

" _Mon_ _cheri_ , I am home!" Came that forever baroque voice from the living room. "Where are you, did you _miss_ _me my little love muffin?"_

Arthur visibly cringed. No, he more than cringed. He recoiled at the sound of his voice.  
The second that man stepped into the kitchen and saw Alfred that first time, his usual flirty smile and eyes that had the ability to smoulder the most solid brickwork turned up a notch. He really thought he was _so_ fit, but he _really_ didn't realise how much Arthur despised it.

Bloody frogs.

Alfred couldn't contain himself. He rumbled with laughter so hard that tears were rolling down his cheeks while he attempted to hold in his ribs.

Arthur was burnt red hot, and while Alfred wasn't looking, he shot the two fingered salute and mouthed an obscenity to the Frenchman that looked so bloody pleased with himself.

When Alfred finally calmed down from his laughter, Arthur's housemate introduced himself. "I am Francis Bonnefoy, nice to meet you, er…" He trailed off, with his hand patiently outstretched.

Alfred took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Alfred Jones, nice to meetcha."

A sly smile pulled across the Frenchman's features and he gave Alfred a wink. "Please, the pleasure is _all mine._ "

Before anyone could process another thought, Francis's phone started to ring and he excused himself from the room. From behind the door, the two could hear him spitting out loud words in French followed by obnoxious laughter, before the noise faded off.

"So… love muffin huh?" Alfred finally spoke after he deemed it safe enough to talk.

"Don't. You really would not want to know."

Alfred's usual grin returned as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "Actually, I _would_ like to know."

"Maybe another time." Arthur dismissed, although he couldn't help but laugh at the idea of it. "It is kind of ridiculous. And embarrassing."

"Naw, come on little muffin." He teased, leaning over and nudging Arthur in the shoulder. "Tell me, _please_?"

"Little _what_? I won't be telling you anything, especially after that!"

"C'mon, it suits you. You're short. You're sweet. Maybe even tasty too, I dunno."

"I may not be as tall as you, but I am not _short._ " Arthur defended himself, with a smirk of his own. "And I don't think I'd be that tasty, to be quite frank."

"Well as I said, I dunno. There's only one way to find out." And with that, Alfred's hand was caressing the skin on Arthur's forearm, which, like some kind of spell, easily managed to draw him in close.

Arthur's heart began hammering wildly, while flushes of excitement, nerves, and even surprise ran through him. Alfred was looking at him, and only him. His lips looked so welcoming, so soft. He was so close to Alfred now, he could feel his warmth radiating through his clothing, and he could smell him. He smelled so good.

Alfred grabbed onto Arthur's waist, pushing away the remaining space that was between them and then he leaned in close, only to whisper. "But maybe we'll wait for another time."

Arthur was the first to pull away, blushing madly with a heart high on ecstasy. "Bloody hell, Alfie." He said almost breathlessly.

After a few seconds, Alfred opened his mouth to say something but he was quickly interrupted from behind.

"Someone cook me some popcorn, this is getting interesting." Francis joked.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a few weeks since Alfred's visit to Arthur's apartment. Francis seemed very interested in Arthur's new friend, much to his distaste, and was constantly asking about him and what he was doing and what they were up to each time he had plans to meet with him somewhere.

Gradually the questions got more personal before they plainly got inappropriate. Arthur never gave his roommate a clear answer, so he figured this must be Francis's way of acting out to get a rise from him.

"Have you seen his… love muscle?"

"How long is his high pressure vein cane?"

"Does he flick your light switch? … He sure flicks mine."

"You've met him _once,_ Francis!" Arthur finally snapped.

A grin crawled across the blonde's face. A nasty, dirty, perverted grin that Arthur immediately hated. "That's all the time I need."

"You're disgusting."

Later that evening, Arthur was inside Alfred's hotel room, flopped across the couch complaining about how filthy Francis had been lately. And he had always been like that with anyone Arthur made friends with or had an interest in, who the Frenchman also found mildly attractive. In fact, they didn't even have to be _that_ good looking for him to start acting that way.

It was a wonder no one had a restraining order against him yet.

Meanwhile, Alfred handed Arthur a cup of tea made just the way he liked it, and sat opposite the Brit while cradling his own mug of black coffee, just the way he loved to drink it.

He was struggling not to laugh. "So how did you even meet him again?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and recalled the story from his mind. "I took a gap year, and while travelling through France, I stopped in Paris for a few days and I shared a room with Francis in the hostel I was staying in. He had run off from his home town to the city for a new life, but all that was thrown under his feet and he was struggling to survive. Anyway when we met he showed me around the city, we swapped stories and became very good friends. And when I finally left France to go to Germany, he followed." A faint smile appeared on his face. "Although he's more annoying now than what he used to be."

"That is pretty amazing that you're still friends to this day, though. Two guys with two completely different backgrounds, and everything."

"Yes, indeed it is I suppose."

The air had grown silent between them as they sipped their drinks.

Arthur was thinking back on the days of his travels, thinking about how carefree he felt and how young he was. How fun things were for him.

Alfred, on the other hand was busy studying the man sitting opposite him.

The way his sandy blonde hair had been carelessly spiked in all directions, his troubled green eyes lost in thought, to his ears that were covered in piercings. That was something he'd never really paid too much attention to before.  
There were a few in the upper helix of one ear, and on the opposite ear he had three studs along the lobe.

Arthur was wearing that leather jacket of his, tight jeans and his black combat boots, which were rested against the coffee table between them.  
Arthur was someone that Alfred actually found _very_ attractive.

Actually, scratch that. Arthur Kirkland wasn't just attractive. He was smoking hot and he probably didn't even realise it.

Arthur seemed to snap out of his thoughts, lowering his mug from his lips after taking a sip and immediately caught Alfred watching him. The American man shot him a grin and Arthur felt the inside of his chest seize up at the expression.

' _Why was he staring at me?!'_

"You have a milk moustache."

Ah, of course.

The tightness in his chest slowly released as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is it gone?"

Allred placed his mug on the table and leaned over, placing a hand on Arthur's jaw, hand spreading warmly across his cheek. "You're good at getting stuff on your face, aren't you?" He laughed and wiped the corner of his lip with his spare hand.

The tightness amped up twice as much in Arthur's chest at the gesture, especially as Alfred's hands lingered on his face and their eyes locked on one another's.

"First the ketchup, now your tea… what's next?" Alfred smirked cheekily.

"I could make a few guesses." Arthur replied, his voice slightly unsteady but a mask of confidence pulling over the nervousness that soaked him.

"Oh yeah? So could I."

His voice sent tremors down Arthur's spine, making his hair stand on end. Excitement was filling him. But he was also unsure. Was it just him, or was Alfred getting… sexual?  
His lower quarters thought so, and Arthur tried to will the hardness away before it was noticed. There was sweat developing on his brow.

Their mouths were so close now, it was so tempting to lean in to desire and let lust overtake.

He felt Alfred's hands move towards his ears, fingers brushing against the lobes. "I really like your earrings." He said with his eyes barely breaking away from him.

"Th-thank you."

And with that, Alfred separated himself from his friend, leaning back against his own seat with a satisfied smile on his face, while Arthur was seated awkwardly, trying to hide the dilemma between his legs with his hands while his face burnt red hot.

"I think I should go, thank you for having me over, but I must be on my way to work. I'll call you tonight."

After Alfred walked Arthur to the door and they bid each other goodbye, Alfred almost laughed in glee.

Arthur _was_ attracted to him, and Alfred couldn't wait to see him again, because now it just made things so much easier. He didn't have to worry anymore about what Arthur might think of him if he accidently let something slip or if he did something that doesn't exactly seem _straight._  
It would come as a true relief.

He couldn't wait to see Arthur again, but for now, he had to deal with his _own_ problem that had developed in his pants.


	5. Chapter 5

Francis was hosting an art gallery and the two were invited for the opening night. It wasn't Francis's first gallery, but the prospect was still new and fresh to the Frenchman, and each time he had an exhibit he always displayed his best artworks that ranged from masterful to just plain quirky or strange.  
Although, the underlying theme for most of his works was sex. The bloody pervert. But the critics just mopped it up, and the viewers couldn't get enough of it.  
Arthur supposed everybody had an inner deviant, but Francis was just more open about it than anybody else he'd ever met.

Arthur was waiting outside the gallery with a cigarette hanging between his lips. He was leaning against the pillar that gave entrance to the building behind him, and many people who came for the showing were confusing him for a doorman, even though he did not look the part that night. Or any other night, for that matter.

He never was one to dress officially.

Alfred, on the other hand, was a very sharp dresser.

Speaking of whom, a taxi had pulled up in front of him, which the American man had stepped out of, wearing a collared button up shirt, nice black pants and expensive looking shoes.

Arthur stomped his cigarette out and went to greet his friend.

"I didn't realise Francis was an artist." Alfred commented almost excitedly.

Arthur grimaced. "His work can be rather direct at times."

The two were handed a catalogue upon entering the building, describing the titles of some of the paintings and photography, but Arthur just tucked his into his back pocket without so much as sparing a glance at it.

The artworks were displayed in three columns just outside of the main area in spacious corridors. The room that they were currently in served as a function space. Several people were gathered within, wine glasses in hand, while waiters handed out nibbly foods and drinks. There was a bar in the corner, there was seating and a few tables spread around the room, and there was soft music playing in the background.

Francis was in the centre of the room, laughing along with his other friends and receiving compliments from strangers. He was wearing his finest clothes which consisted of a pinstriped vest over a laced dress-shirt with tight black jeans, and his long blonde hair was out and sat by his shoulders in its natural ringlets and curls.  
He was a very well liked man. The ladies loved him.  
But that was only because they didn't have to live with him.

Alfred was snickering at the catalogue as he read through it, but Arthur didn't even want to know why. He'd seen most of the works before the exhibit so nothing would really surprise him anymore.

Francis greeted the two warmly, the smell of red wine strong on his breath. His cheeks were flushed pink but his eyes were lively. "Welcome boys! I'm glad you could make it, I hope you enjoy the gallery I put together." A grin came along. "I can't express how much you inspire me, Arthur Kirkland."

A few people turned around at the mention of his name to steal a glance at the Brit before sharing a whisper with their companions. It made him feel like a deer caught in headlights, and Arthur immediately got a bad feeling about it.

Before Arthur even registered that he was the talk of the room, his thoughts were immediately distracted by a young pretty waitress offering him a glass of white or red wine and a few snack foods. He helped himself to the glass of white that sat on the silver tray in her hands and took a few grapes with a thank you.

She gave him a broad smile. "I can't believe you've never been offered a modelling contract before, Mr. Kirkland!"

Alarmed, Arthur's brows knitted together. "How do you know my name?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but before any words came out Alfred interrupted by grabbing onto his arm and tugging him away.

"You need to see this. _Now._ " He said and led him down the first corridor.

They walked past artisanal and experimental photography and a few abstract and more traditional paintings of people engaging in all sorts of fun activities, before coming across the very last one.

It was more sketchy than the rest of the artworks, but the image was as clear as day. It was a depiction of Alfred and Arthur, that time Francis had caught them in the kitchen. Alfred's hand was up Arthur's shirt, the passion and heat of the moment was so openly illustrated, and the both of them together could feel those same emotions and physical sensations from the time that it had actually happened.

"That isn't the last of them, either."

Arthur didn't know how to react. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel angry or not. He was just mostly… shocked.

Alfred showed him the next one in the second corridor, a photo this time of Arthur. It was in black and white. He was clad in just a towel and his back was facing the camera. The image captured a moment where Arthur was had just opened his curtains, and the light from the window had spread out and left a white glow in the room, leaving just his shadow.

The label underneath mentioned how Francis preferred to take his photos without the model's knowledge, because he believed it took away the reality of the situation.

That statement slid the shock over for embarrassment and slight paranoia. He knew Francis was a creep.

"Are there anymore?" Arthur asked weakly.

Alfred smirked. "There are three more that include you."

"Fuck."

"Well, at least they're all artistic. You gotta admire the quality, right? Even if it is kinda embarrassing."

"I'm not that embarrassed." Arthur denied, but Alfred just cocked his head.

"Bullshit, you've gone bright red. Don't worry, your bare ass looks good in the next photo."

"Excuse me, what?! He took a photo of my- wait did you just admit that my arse looks good?"

"You can't blame me for looking."

 **Note: I've used the different spellings of 'ass' to portray the accents of the characters**


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur sat by the window with a hot cup of tea in his hands, staring out at the rainy weather over the city. His brief moment of silence was disturbed when Francis made his presence known by clearing his throat. Arthur turned and saw both his house mate as well as Alfred, who had come to visit by the doorway.

"Mornin' sunshine." The American greeted with his ever-ready and infectious grin.

Before Arthur could reply, Francis chimed in; "I'm off for a meeting, don't wait up boys." he said in a sing-song voice with a flirtatious wink and a wave as he departed the apartment.

They were finally alone together and Arthur's heart skipped a beat as Alfred made himself comfortable on the seat opposite him. He brushed his knee against the side of Arthur's leg as he tucked his chair in.

"Well that exhibit last night was certainly interesting. Now I don't have to imagine what your backside looks like." He joked.

A sudden rush of heat headed straight to the Brit's face and his eyes widened brightly. He quickly tried to think of a witty reply but found himself fumbling for words. "W-well that's not fair then, is it."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow. Was Arthur… flirting? The corner of his mouth turned upwards.  
Two could play at this game.

"Are you suggesting something, there?" Alfred started gently tugging at the collar of his shirt and letting his fingers stroke the material as he bumped his knee into Arthur's leg. He let the contact remain, making sure that Arthur's eyes were captured on the movements of the American's fingers.

Green eyes darted away from Alfred's hands, suddenly capturing the cerulean blues across him.

"Perhaps I am. Or perhaps I'm just stating that you've seen my arse but I haven't seen yours. It's hardly fair. Wouldn't you agree?" Arthur's heart was hammering in his chest.  
The words were just flowing out of his mouth like water does from a faucet. It felt so good to act so playfully towards someone again. And the feeling of Arthur's leg constantly brushing against his was sending electricity through his veins.  
He couldn't control himself. He was giving into the impulse.

Alfred let his fingers dance across Arthur's knee under the table, finally breaking that touch barrier that he'd been itching to get through. Arthur melted into the touch as the finger tapping turned into a firm but comfortable grasp of his knee.

"I didn't realise you felt so strongly about this." Another cheeky smile.

Arthur was fully focused of Alfred's face. He didn't even realise that he was leaning in close to him, nor did he care that Alfred was stroking his inner thigh, sending a wave of excitement towards his lower regions.

Alfred hadn't moved from his position, nor had his expression. And the look in his eyes, Arthur couldn't help but think that it was undefinably sexy. He realised Alfred was still playing with his collar and Arthur shot out a hand and clasped the American's fist, instantly stopping him.

Without a brief second between, that's when Arthur placed his freehand on the surface of the table for support, kicked back his seat, and smashed his lip against the mouth of the man seated across him.

He couldn't resist the temptation any longer. Alfred was captivating. And he didn't even care about the possible consequences. For desperate reasons, he suddenly felt he needed to be touched, he needed hands gripping and grasping his body, fingers tugging at his hair, he needed someone's mouth all over him.

But those thoughts stopped when Alfred ripped away from the Brit. There was a sudden look of shock in his blue eyes, but devastation in Arthur's, as well as fear, as the bottle rocket of realisation had finally taken off.

"I still don't think we're even." Came Alfred's voice out of nowhere after a looming few silent seconds. His hands wrapped around his shoulders before he leant in again, pressing their mouths together with an urgency that Arthur hadn't experienced in a long time.

Their lips moved against each other as their tongues explored each other's mouths. Alfred bit Arthur's lip before kissing away from his mouth and down his neck, towards his collarbone. He nipped the flesh and then broke away with his signature grin.

"Did we just fucking make out?!" Arthur was absolutely bewildered.


End file.
